


Some Assembly Required

by Rainbowcat



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Dark Comedy, Eating Disorders, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowcat/pseuds/Rainbowcat
Summary: “I think he’s trying to say something,” Mac says, and his eyes shine with wonder.Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s fifteen months old. He’s not trying to say shit. He doesn’t have rational thoughts.”Brian Jr. waves his tiny fist vaguely near Mac, who literally gasps out loud - “oh! He knows his papa!” - and something twists loose in Dennis’s chest when he realizes Mac wasn’t referring to him.Canon-divergent from 12x10 (Dennis’s Double Life): Mandy decides to move herself and Brian Jr. to Philadelphia. To be raised by his one mom and two dads, apparently, because fuck Dennis Reynolds’ life.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 50
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A general trigger warning on this fic for casual mentions of sexism, racism, homophobia, violence, mental illness, etc - if it's in the show, it's fair game here.

_Prologue_

As it turns out, getting an apartment in Philly is easy when you’re not a broke bartender with garbage credit.

“The cost of living in North Dakota is low,” Mandy says in a placating tone, as if to reassure Dennis. “I’ve got a tiny bit of cash saved up, and I’m renting out my house back home. I’ll be fine.”

A “tiny bit” of cash amounts to more money than Dennis has ever had in his life, excepting some of his more lucrative and sadly shorter-lived schemes. Apparently, Mandy is on a new and terrifying level of having her shit together. Not only does she breeze her way into a quaint little two-bedroom in Queen Village, but she does things like contribute regularly to a 529 for Brian Jr. and wave away Dennis’s insincere offer of financial support with a laugh.

It’s emasculating, is what it is.

“Your baby mama is like, crazy smart,” Charlie says, awed. “How’d you manage to trick her into banging you, anyway?”

“Believe it or not, I had sex with him willingly,” Mandy chimes in brightly. Five heads swivel toward her. Dennis had forgotten she was even there in the thirtyish seconds since she’d last spoken. She’s rocking a sleeping Brian Jr. on her hip, and Dennis wonders in a vaguely panicked way if he’ll be expected to do that, how even to know _when_ babies need to be rocked. He’s also pretty sure babies aren’t allowed in a bar, but it’s Mac’s job to check IDs, so whether or not Brian is underage is not his problem. “I had a good time, and I’m happy he’s Brian’s dad.”

There’s a long pause.

“Yeah, whatever con you’re running, lady,” Dee says, “I just hope it’s a good one. For your sake.”

Mandy leaves not too long after that, and Dennis immediately lines up three shots. Mac and Dee poach two of them, and he scowls.

“I’m trying to fucking die here, please,” he says as Mac grimaces and fumbles for a lime. It wasn’t even tequila.

Dee grins, the picture of shit-eating triumph. How Dennis loathes her. “Oh, spare us the drama, you pussy.”

“Yeah, that’s your job and you’re not even good at it,” he fires back, but the words are lacking their usual spiciness. Mac gives him a sympathetic pat on the thigh.

Dennis turns to Frank, the one person reliable for advice on controlling women. And reliably, Frank is asleep again. Dennis exhales all the air that’s in his lungs until it hurts and heaves himself off the stool.

“Dude, this is gonna be so. Great,” Mac says. He’s followed Dennis to the men’s room like the creepy stalker puppy he is.

“Can I take a piss,” Dennis grunts. His will to live has hit rock bottom; he reaches under the sink for one of Charlie’s bleach and/or liquor cans, and comes up empty. Goddamnit, Charlie.

“Of course, man.” Mac’s eyes widen, and then _he’s_ unzipping his fly and relieving himself in the urinal next to Dennis’s. The broken one that won’t drain. Dennis squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he stays completely still, or like, clicks his heels together or some shit, he’ll wake up on the plane to LA and realize this was all a Boggs-inspired booze dream and he never quit in North Dakota-

“Are you gonna pee, or,” Mac says with genuine concern, shaking loose the last drops and zipping himself up, and Dennis lets out a muffled roar.

*

It had gone down something like this:

After Mandy remained unshaken by the emotionally gay thing, Dennis took the only rational course of action left, and faked his own death. When not even that impressed her, they said their goodbyes.

Except not, because sitting in Paddy’s and physically feeling his body and soul decay, Dennis had just enough energy for one wish: that the kid’s life not turn out like this.

So he made his grand farewell, and bolted. He just started running. About half a block later, he was out of breath and paused to call Mandy.

“Brian?” she said, her voice confused and more than a little irritated.

“It’s Dennis,” he said. “Listen, are you at the airport already?”

“I’m in the hotel,” Mandy said slowly. “You know, the one you insisted I book right near that bar?”

“Right,” Dennis said, relieved. “Okay. Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming.”

The hotel was actually a motel, but it was clean enough. Or so Dennis hoped, since he, Mandy, and Brian Jr. were now congregated on the floor, where Brian Jr. was repeatedly smashing a toy truck into the dusty carpet.

“Okay,” Dennis started. “I know I haven’t been, uh, all that receptive to the idea of being a dad.”

Mandy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

“But I’m willing to _try_ ,” he continued, ignoring the jab and putting his hand on Brian Jr.’s head for emphasis. (Shit, now what? Was he supposed to pet him? Or were baby skulls too soft for that? Didn’t they have that one weak spot?) “When I picked Brian up to say goodbye to him, I like, felt… something.”

“Love?” Mandy suggested drily.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Dennis scowled. “It was nothing that shallow, it was this physical sensation right… here.” He took his hand off the kid’s head and put it right over his sternum.

Mandy actually rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you-” Dennis said, anger flooding into his throat, but then Brian gurgled and it subsided to a trickle. “Alright, fine. I don’t really know what I’m doing. But I want to at least attempt it. Can’t be as bad as what my parents did, right?” he added with a humorless laugh.

Mandy touched his arm, and it took every ounce of willpower not to jerk away. “You know, I’m glad you said that.”

“You are?”

“Of course! You’re Brian’s dad, and nothing can change that. And after I saw your life here, I thought it would probably be best if I moved out to Pennsylvania.”

“Right, right- wait, what?” Dennis scooted backwards. His pulse was suddenly hammering in his ears.

“Think about it,” Mandy said, unruffled. “We don’t want to keep flying halfway across the country all the time, especially with a young child. And there’s no reason you should move to North Dakota. There’s nothing for you there. But for me,” she said with a small, bittersweet kind of smile, “there’s a reason to leave. Most of my friends either moved to the big city or had kids of their own, and my parents have been living out retirement in Florida for years now. It was going to be a lonely life out there, even with the little guy.”

Dennis was too dumbstruck to answer.

“And obviously,” Mandy went on, and now the hand on his arm was rubbing in soothing circles, “you’ve got a great setup here. You’ve got your friends, your job. You might have some issues with honesty, but I can tell that your heart is in the right place. And Mac is such a good guy. Brian’s going to be really loved.”

Dennis was nodding along, though he wasn’t quite sure why she had singled out Mac of the whole gang. Probably because his was the one name she knew. Still, everything else sounded rational enough, especially in Mandy’s calm Midwestern drawl.

“Okay.” Dennis stood. “But you’re not moving in with… us, right?”

That same bittersweet smile again. “No, Br- Dennis. I’ll get my own place.”

They said goodbye for now – Mandy actually hugged him, and Dennis remembered too late to bring his hands up around her. With a last look at his son, he headed outside, back toward Paddy’s.

Where the gang was currently aiming his rocket launcher. 

At his car.

“What in the _actual name of fuck, Mac_ ,” Dennis roared, plastering himself up against the Range Rover like a hero ready to take a fall. “Put the _fucking RPG down_ , or so _help me God_ I will _end you_.”

“Oh, hey Dennis,” Mac said breezily, lowering the rocket launcher. “Back so soon!”

“Did your father scheme not work out?” Charlie asked.

“What- no! What?” Dennis frowned.

“Yeah, like how you were gonna move to North Dakota and have Mandy pay your rent and cook for you and stuff,” Dee said quickly, like she was just recapping a foolproof plan they’d already laid out in extensive detail.

Dennis’s eyes bugged. “Okay. I don’t know what the hell anyone’s talking about. Mac, will you put my goddamn gun away? Jesus.”

“Sorry, Dennis,” Mac said, not sounding sorry at all. “Hey, welcome back. Shots?”

“Yes, shots,” Dennis said testily. “Christ. You people.”

He and Frank went in last. Frank clapped him on the back as they went inside. For a brief, disorienting moment, Dennis actually thought Frank was happy to see him again. But then Frank tugged him roughly by the sleeve, forcing him to bend down to Frank’s level.

“Ow, God, what.”

“Whatever you’re up to now,” Frank said, a gleam of delight in his little goblin eyes, “is gonna be a fucking shitshow.”


	2. Chapter 2

So here he is, back in his apartment, and it’s like Groundhog Day. Except worse, because Mac is here too.

“I’m thinking we should put a crib in my former room,” Mac is saying, and Dennis feels a spectacular headache blooming behind his eyes. “Ooh, let’s make it, like, titanium. Safe _and_ badass.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said,” Dennis mutters, “I don’t even know where to start.”

Everything in the apartment is freakishly the same and yet not the same at all, like Mac’s shifted all their furniture two inches to the left and painted the room a shade darker. Their remodeled apartment is antediluvian in the worst way, an uncanny valley of possessions and memories that were best left to the ashes.

Yet here they are. And here Mac is.

“And we should repaint the room,” Mac says, oblivious to Dennis’s barely controlled homicidal rage. “I’m thinking, light green? You know, something gender neutral, so we’re not constantly bombarding him with toxic masculinity. Oh! Or maybe two walls pink and two walls blue, so he can challenge gender norms early on.”

“Toxic masc-” Dennis chokes a little. “Excuse me? What piece of shit Intro to Gender Studies textbook have you been _reading_?”

Mac full-on pouts at him. “Nothing, bro. Just some Internet forums.”

Dennis gulps several lungfuls of air, before he pivots and stalks towards his room without another word. _Nonconfrontation, nonconfrontation_ , a voice in his head chants, and it must be God’s because it’s definitely not in the Gang’s vocabulary.

“Dennis?” Mac calls after him, and he has the audacity to sound bashful. 

“What now,” Dennis grits out without turning around.

“Where should I. Uh. Sleep?”

“Not my problem,” Dennis says, and slams the door shut. 

There’s blessed silence. With a groan, he faceplants onto the mattress. It’s exactly the same thickness as his old one, with that same slight give in the middle. The blanket is the same cheap fabric in the same washed-out blue, which is freaky because he’d stolen his old one from Dee when they were four. The bed even smells the same, a lingering blend of cigarette smoke, liquor, his own cologne, and a dash of je ne sais quoi. It’s as comforting as it is horrifying.

In lieu of brushing his teeth, Dennis reaches under the mattress for the bottle of Bacardi stashed there and takes a swig. He strips down to his underwear, climbs into a pair of sweatpants and a tee – and how exactly Mac replenished his drawers, he doesn’t want to know in the slightest – and curls up.

Except sleep doesn’t come. And then it continues not to. And maybe an hour later, still nothing. Dennis is used to insomnia, but this is rivaled only by his month in the suburbs, and he bites down on his fist to keep from screaming. He tries every trick he knows: he makes a list of things he hates about Dee. He mentally scripts _Thunder Gun Express 3_. He masturbates. He drinks more.

Nothing.

It’s too empty, is the problem. After a year of the world’s shittiest sleeping arrangements, he’s physically incapable of passing out without Old Black Man’s snoring or Dee’s bony elbows stabbing him in the abs.

Faced with defeat, he finally throws the blanket off and stalks through the living room. He yanks open Mac’s door.

In the absence of blinds, the room is filled with moonlight, illuminating a huddled shape next to the dildo bike. For whatever reason, Mac is eschewing the couch in favor of his floor, curled up in the fetal position underneath the duster.

A physical sensation, unidentified and unwelcome, squeezes Dennis’s chest, rises up into his throat. He coughs and Mac stirs.

“Den?”

“C’mon, asshole,” Dennis says, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

To his credit, Mac keeps his mouth shut. He stands and stretches, the duster sliding off onto the floor. Dennis doesn’t look over his shoulder as he climbs back into bed, but shortly thereafter, he feels Mac’s warm weight settling on the opposite side of the mattress.

Seconds later, Dennis is asleep.

*

Waking up the next morning is like being snuggled in a cloud. A warm, solid, kind of muscular cloud.

There’s a fog lying over Dennis’s mind, obscuring thought and leaving behind simple sensation. He takes a moment to fight through it, and that’s when he becomes aware of Mac.

It’s hard not to be aware of Mac, actually, since he’s pressed up against Dennis’s backside, having flung one annoyingly heavy arm over Dennis’s torso and breathing softly into his neck. And – Dennis goes still – yep, that’s Mac’s boner poking him in the ass.

The most awful part of all of this, more so than the arm or the breathing or the erection, is how nice it is. It feels so goddamn _nice_ , and Dennis clenches his teeth to bite down a yell from the niceness of it all. He hasn’t been touched like this since… well, ever, probably. Even of all the girls he’s D.E.N.N.I.S.ed, he’s never once let any of them stay over, much less spoon. At most, they would both drunkenly pass out for an hour or two, but always on other ends of the bed, and always ending with Dennis showing them the door in the middle of the night.

“Mac.” Dennis starts to struggle, which devolves into thrashing when he can’t seem to free himself. Their bodies are a mess of tangled legs and blankets, and still Mac’s fucking arm hasn’t budged.

Mac jerks awake with a grunt. “‘Smatter?”

“Get off- get - off-”

This has the opposite of the intended effect, as Mac stretches further across him to reach for Dennis’s phone on the nightstand. Dennis finds himself suddenly smothered under Mac’s torso, and when did he get so bulky, anyway?

Mac squints at the screen. His hair is sticking up every which way, and Dennis suppresses the abrupt urge to smooth it down. “It’s 7:15 AM, dude. Go back to sleep.” He drops the phone and takes up his original position behind Dennis, nestling his forehead between Dennis’s shoulderblades.

“Your breath is gross,” Dennis snaps, even as Mac’s foot finds its way back between his.

“Whatever, man. You’re bony as shit,” Mac says sleepily.

“I fail to see how that’s relevant,” Dennis says, but Mac’s already passed out again.

One of Mac’s hands is brushing against his chest. Dennis’s nostrils flare as he gets his breathing under control: in, out. In. Out.

But Dennis is tired. He’s so, so tired, and with his exhaustion comes an apathy that feels oddly close to acceptance.

Fine. He’ll let himself do this a little bit longer.


	3. Chapter 3

Dennis wakes again to sunlight stabbing him in the eye. According to his phone, it’s 2:27.

Mac has since rolled off. Both of them are on their backs, but Mac’s leg is still tucked between his, and their forearms are brushing. For some reason, this position feels a hundred times more intimate than the previous; Dennis jumps up like he’s been stung.

Mac stirs to life, luxuriating in a stretch, and in that moment Dennis hates him for looking so goddamn content. Dennis turns his back, scrolling through nonexistent notifications on his phone so he doesn’t have to watch.

“What time is it?” Mac says.

“It’s past two,” Dennis says without glancing up. “I’m going down to Paddy’s.”

Dennis notices, and hates himself for noticing, how well-rested he’s feeling. He doesn’t even need under-eye concealer, a fact that keeps him swiping nervously at his face as they drive to the bar.

“Dude, are you okay,” Mac asks him, which Dennis doesn’t dignify with a response.

They’re early, but Charlie is earlier. “Heyo,” he says as Mac and Dennis come in. “Have a good night?”

Dennis is up in his face in a blink. “Don’t even,” he snarls, gripping the counter so as not to grab Charlie by the collar.

Charlie’s eyes flick nervously to Mac, who just shrugs. “Uh, okay. I won’t.”

Dennis slides into a stool, suddenly drained. Mac and Charlie leave him to bring up something from the basement, muttering among themselves as they go.

He twists open a beer. Upon a moment’s reflection, he goes into the back office, rummaging around for some paper that isn’t too badly stained with rat pee. When Mac and Charlie come back up, he’s started scribbling on the paper. Mac leans over his shoulder to look, and Dennis hunches further inward.

“What’s it say?” Charlie asks.

“It’s a contract,” Mac tells him. “I can’t see. Oh, there’s… ‘Brian Jr.’? Are you making a contract with your kid? I don’t think he can read yet.”

“It’s for Mandy,” Dennis says, scowling. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to look up a notary.”

“Smart move, man,” Mac says. “You wanna know what you’re getting yourself into. Like, how many times a day you’re gonna take him on a walk, or feed him.”

Dennis stares. “He’s not a dog.”

“No, I think Mac’s onto something,” Charlie says, tugging the paper and pen nimbly out of Dennis’s hands and writing something under his neat paragraphs: BIRD N B’S. “Like, is it your job to have the sex talk with him?”

“Okay.” Dennis grabs the paper back, wrinkling it. “Both of you are off this project. Not that you were ever on it to begin with.”

“I wanna be on it,” Dee says, entering. Frank isn’t too far behind her. “What project?”

“Dennis is making a Mandy contract, now that he’s a dad,” Charlie explains.

Dee’s nodding. “Oh yeah, not a bad plan. Hey, I want a cut.”

“A cut?” Dennis turns to glare at her.

“Yeah. Like, whatever money you make from this.”

“Okay, first of all, _zero_ money; second of all, you’d get approximately none of it even if I did, and third of all, did I mention that I’m not getting any money?” Dennis ticks off.

Dee frowns. “Wait, why make a contract if not to get money out of it?”

“I get it,” Frank chimes in. “Plausible deniability.”

Dennis flings the pen somewhere in the vicinity of where Dee usually tends bar; it ricochets off the BEER sign and clatters to the floor. “Okay, Mac. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Mac says, enthusiasm bright as sunshine. “Where are we going?”

“Lucky for us, we got a late lunch date at River House Seafood.”

“Really?” Mac says on a squeak.

Dennis sighs. “We’re seeing Mandy, dumbass.”

“Oh.” Mac’s brow furrows. “Why me?”

“‘Cause we gotta go clear up this gay thing, okay? Are we done with the 20 Questions, can we go?” Dennis says.

“Sign me up,” Dee says quickly, stalking over to Mac’s side. “If I can’t get any money out of this, I at least want some shrimp linguini.”

“Oh, that sounds good, I’ll have a plate,” Charlie pipes up.

“Count me in,” Frank says. “Not shrimp, though, makes me too gassy. You think they’ve got salmon fillet?”

“I saw some on the menu last time, yeah,” Mac says.

Dennis represses a yell, something he’s getting a lot of practice in these days. “You,” he growls, pointing at Dee, Charlie, and Frank in turn. “Stay. You-” he points at Mac, who straightens, “come.”

“Mama wants her shrimp,” Dee whines, and this time Dennis does indulge himself a roar. Just a little one. They all flinch.

“Fucking – fine,” he says. “Dee and Mac and I are going to River House Seafood. You two are _staying_ and doing your damn jobs. Sell some alcohol, or whatever.”

He exits, not caring how close Dee and Mac are behind him. “Get some pasta in a to-go box!” Charlie calls out anxiously as the door slams shut.

*

They’re in exactly the same table as last time, in exactly the same seating arrangement, with Dee in Frank’s place. To her credit, she’s less interested in negotiating terms of prostitution than he was, and more interested in shoveling ungodly amounts of food into her beak. Dennis watches with mild disgust.

“What can I do for ya this time, boys,” Mandy says, and Dennis almost has to admire how weary she looks. It’s an expression that has taken other people in his life years to perfect.

“Mandy, we don’t want anything from you,” Dennis starts with a magnanimous wave of his hand. Mac is sitting next to him, picking at his food without actually eating any of it, saying nothing. “I just wanted to come clean, once and for all.”

“Okay,” she says, taking a measured sip of her bellini. In the glow of the fake candle on the table, Mandy looking at him through reserved eyes, Dennis suddenly sees her the way Brian Lefevre did, back in that sad Applebee’s in Bismarck: a warrior queen, too strong, too proud, for her humble upbringing. He blinks and the moment’s passed.

“My name is Dennis Reynolds,” Dennis says. “This, unfortunately, is my twin sister, Dee.” Dee waves with her fork; a few drops of cream sauce splatter onto her t-shirt. “This is my roommate, Mac.”

Mac’s face does something inscrutable before falling into a blank mask. It’s eerie, for someone so pathologically open, and Dennis looks away.

“And the other two-” Mandy prompts.

“-Are Frank and Charlie, and that’s really all that’s worth knowing about them,” Dennis fills in smoothly. “Most importantly, I wanted to clear the air here. Mac and I are _not_ lovers, we are _not_ gay, nor have we ever been ‘emotionally involved.’” He sits back, satisfied. “Well. He’s gay, I’m not. It’s, like, a whole thing.”

Mandy takes her time before responding, glancing between the two of them, then over at Dee, who still doesn’t seem to give much of a shit about the situation. Mandy’s expression shifts from politely confused to something that Dennis would describe as pity, if he didn’t know better. There’s no logical reason anyone, much less Mandy, would pity him.

“Alright,” Mandy says at last. “Dennis. I’m glad you came here to be straightforward with me. I’m still not really sure why all of this-” she gestures at the candle, the drinks, the plates heaped with steaming food, “-was necessary, but it’s good that we’re getting to know each other, for Brian’s sake, at least. Now, whatever is going on _here_ ,” and she nods at Dennis and Mac, who looks up for once, “is none of my business, and it doesn’t really matter to me. It’s clear you care about each other, and that you’ll both be around for Brian. And the more role models he has in his life, the better.”

Dennis sputters, reduced to incoherence by the gentleness of her tone, but Mac speaks for the first time since they came: barely audible, he says a soft “thank you,” and that’s enough to startle Dennis into silence.

Dee pauses, finally showing interest. “So what’s your deal, huh?” she says, setting down her fork and watching Mandy.

“My deal?”

“Yeah. What’ve you got going on in the city?”

“Well,” Mandy says, “actually, I just accepted a job as a legal assistant at a law firm downtown. I think they were excited to bring on someone from the Midwest. You East Coast folks sure don’t see a lot of us, do ya!”

“Affirmative action hire, nice,” Dee says, offering Mandy a high-five.

“The pay is good, and the job is full-time, but not to worry,” she says and quirks a smile at Dennis, “they do have an affiliation with a daycare, so.”

Dennis frowns. “Why would I be worried?”

“Because otherwise you’d watch the kid, dipshit,” Dee says through a mouthful of food.

“Oh, yeah, that wouldn’t happen anyway,” Dennis says dismissively. He reaches into his pocket for the paper and smoothes it out on the table. “I drafted up a contract, it’d be great if you could sign at the bottom, here. It includes the maximum weekly hours I’ll be responsible for Brian Jr., including stipulations about overtime.”

Mandy reaches for the paper and glances it over, lips pressed into a thin line. Abruptly, she tears it apart.

Dennis almost misses Mac’s smile.

“What the hell, woman,” he barks.

Mandy just looks at him. “There are no contracts in parenthood,” she says. “And you’re responsible for Brian all the time. As am I.”

“This is crazy talk,” Dennis protests.

“Is it?” Mandy says. “Why don’t you start now? I’ll pick Brian up from the babysitter, and he’ll spend the night with you.” Her voice never wavers in its mildness, but there’s an edge there that even Dennis isn’t tempted to question.

“Yooo,” Dee says under her breath, scraping the last bits off her plate and not bothering to suppress a burp.


	4. Chapter 4

“I asked you to bring me food,” is the first thing Charlie says when they return to Paddy’s, dismayed.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold this,” Dennis says, dumping Brian into Charlie’s arms.

Charlie takes a dubious sniff of Brian’s head.

Dennis snatches the kid back and scowls. “Don’t you dare.”

“Do we have to have that thing in here?” Frank asks, scooting into the next chair over. “Babies creep me out. Didn’t like ‘em when you and Dee were born and I sure as hell don’t like ‘em now.”

“That explains so much,” Dee says dully.

“I secured the perimeter,” Mac announces, coming in through the back door and slightly breathless. He had finally started talking again when they picked Brian up; Mac sat in the back seat with him and held the kiddie seat in a death grip that tightened every time the Range Rover hit a pothole. Dennis had firmly ignored his relief at hearing the return of Mac’s inane chatter.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware the goddamn President was here,” Dennis sneers. Mac shrugs self-consciously and averts his eyes, and Brian starts to fuss in Dennis’s arms. “Great, you made him cry.”

“Me!?” Mac says, but Dennis has already turned away, awkwardly jiggling Brian up and down, which only seems to upset him more.

Frank grimaces.

“You’re so bad at this, it’s gonna be so much fun to watch,” Dee says. She dumps the duffel bag Mandy had given them onto the bar. “Need a hand?”

“No,” Dennis says loudly over Brian’s crying. Dee raises her eyebrows. “You know what, fine, whatever, sure. You do it.”

Dee rummages around in the bag and comes up with a slightly busted-up teddy. She hands it to Brian, whose cries taper off into upset little hiccups, and finally silence.

All five of them watch the kid, fascinated.

“You know,” Dee says, “now that you assholes are finally out of my apartment and keeping him at your place, I’m actually sort of looking forward to being an aunt.”

“You know what this means, right?” Mac says. Dennis hadn’t realized how close he’d moved. “We should do the renovations in my old room, like I said. And the crib. Some toys.”

“Oh cool, another home makeover. We’re pretty good at those,” Dee says.

“So where’s _he_ sleepin’?” Frank asks Dennis shrewdly, pointing at Mac.

Dennis clenches his teeth. “The couch.”

Mac looks at him soulfully.

“An airbed. The floor. On the dildo bike. We’ll figure it out,” Dennis says in clipped tones.

“Yeah, sure,” Frank snorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dennis says, rounding on Frank and tightening his hold on Brian.

Frank offers a mirthless smile. “The shitshow continues,” he says cryptically.

“Uncle,” Charlie speaks up from his perch at the end of the bar. It’s his first contribution to the conversation, and they all turn to him in surprise.

“What?”

Charlie takes a breath. “Brian is a boy. So that makes Dee an uncle. Technically.”

There’s a long pause.

“Holy shit,” Dee says.

*

Dennis tries to wrangle somebody to stay back and keep the lights on at the bar, but they all find some reason or other to come along: Mac, for “security”; Dee, for repurposing some of her existing furniture; Frank, because he knows a paint guy; Charlie, for janitorial duties related to the baby, which Dennis honestly sees as the most valid.

“So what you wanna do,” Charlie is explaining as he, Dennis, and Mac all contemplate Brian lying on his back on the kitchen table, “is get a trash bag, for when you’re between the old diaper and the new diaper. Just go ahead and slide your baby’s lower half right in there, and then tighten it up.”

“Okay,” Mac says, nodding. “Like a kitchen trash bag? Or a plastic bag?”

“Any bag-like object will do,” Charlie says, “but the ideal is the double-bag situation, like they do at Wawa. Your standard CVS bags are gonna be the best option.”

“I’ve been told double-bagging is no good,” Mac says skeptically.

Dennis slaps Charlie’s hands out of the way. “Okay, I’ve heard enough of this. Where’s Dee? What’s taking her so long, damnit?”

“Trust me,” Charlie tries.

“I do not.” Dennis glowers and goes to look out the window. Thankfully, Dee’s pulling up, the trunk of her sad little car popped and several pieces of furniture on the cusp of spilling out. He grabs Brian, gagging at the smell, and stands to wait by the door.

Dee appears after far too long, out of breath and dragging a rolled-up rug. “Little help here?”

“Trade you,” Dennis says, handing her Brian.

She wrinkles her nose and precedes Dennis back inside as he pulls in the rug the rest of the way in. “The hell is this? He smells terrible.”

“Yeah, can you get on that? There are clean diapers in the duffel.” Dennis props the rug against the couch.

“Why would I know how to change a diaper?” Dee says. Brian gurgles in her arms.

“Womanly intuition,” Dennis says. Mac and Charlie nod.

“That’s some bull, but fine,” Dee snaps. “I’ll figure it out if you take the rest of the furniture.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows at Mac and Charlie. “If you’d be so kind? I need to stay back and supervise.”

The two of them leave with only minimal grumbling, and Dee vanishes with Brian into Dennis’s room. In the ensuing silence, Dennis sinks onto the couch in relief, closing his eyes against the headache starting to brew.

Naturally, the peace doesn’t last. Mac and Charlie return, and the crib they drag between them seems like it’s hit a few corners on the way up. Frank is right behind them, grunting like a boar as he unloads what seems like a pile of crap onto the ground.

“Uh,” Dennis says.

“I got some presents, for the baby,” Frank says vaguely. “You know, toys, character building stuff.”

“Yeah,” Dennis says, nudging a deflated football with the edge of his sneaker and wrinkling his nose. “I can tell by smell alone that at least three-quarters of this shit came from a dumpster. Now can you throw it back in the trash? Where it belongs?”

“Aw, man, don’t waste a perfectly good,” Charlie says. He dives onto the floor and comes up with something that might either be an old sock or a rotten zucchini. “Hey, this is mine! Why are you getting rid of my stuff?”

“Oh, sorry, Charlie,” Frank says, even as he starts to spread the trash on the floor. “Think it got mixed up in there. Put that on the coffee table, I’ll take it back.”

“Don’t,” Dennis growls. After a second of rummaging in the kitchen, he comes up with a fresh box of trash bags. “If all of this isn’t in there by the time I’m back, you’re losing godfather privileges.”

“Me, I’m the godfather?” Charlie clarifies, pointing between him and Frank and suddenly looking more hopeful than Dennis has seen him all day, even with shrimp involved.

Dennis rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Whoa. I thought _I’m_ the godfather,” Mac protests, but Dennis has already stomped off into Mac’s old room.

There, he’s confronted by the sight of the lone Asspounder 4000. The headache intensifies.

“Dennis,” Mac says quietly into his ear. Dennis jumps. “I thought _I_ was Brian’s godfather?”

“Jesus,” Dennis hisses. “Fine, okay? Who the fuck cares? Do rock-paper-scissors with Charlie or something, are you happy?”

Mac is beaming at him now, and Dennis doesn’t have the time to analyze that, so he just jabs his hand emphatically at the Asspounder. “Dildo bike. Storage room. No-o-ow.”

“We have a bike storage? I could never,” Mac says, moving protectively between Dennis and the bike. “What if someone sees it?”

“I’m sure no one will judge you for your gayness, okay,” Dennis says, in his very best approximation of a soothing tone. “It’s Philly, we’ve all seen weirder.”

“What?” Mac is frowning. “What’s the gay- you know- got to do with it? I’m pretty sure if someone sees it, and figures out how it works, they’ll be so impressed they’ll _take_ my idea. And I haven’t even patented it yet!”

Dennis bites on the inside of his cheek so hard he starts to taste blood. Up until North Dakota, he’d been so meticulous about avoiding babies of any kind, and this is why – he’d known they could only be a hassle. But never, not even in his worst nightmares, had he imagined they’d somehow bring sex torture devices, dumpster diving, and unsolicited bedmates into his life. All in one day.

“Okay,” Dennis says, more to himself than to Mac. “Okay. Get a piece of fucking duct tape, cover the goddamn hole, so that way, if someone happens to see this busted piece of shit in bike storage, and think _hm, I wanna sit on that and maybe pedal a bit, that seems fun_ , they won’t activate any sort of anal penetration. Can you do that? For me?”

Mac’s face has fallen again, but he goes to pick up the bike and carry it out, so Dennis chalks it up to a win. He sinks to the floor. His peace is shorter-lived than even the last time as Frank comes in.

“What now,” Dennis says.

Frank just holds up two cans of paint, and Dennis rises. Finally, something utilitarian.

So they paint the wall. It’s messy and imperfect, but under Dennis’s barked orders, it turns out pretty okay. Given its timely gut renovation, the apartment is clean, its walls not in need of any sort of spackling or finishing. They only have to throw on a few coats of paint, and the end result is… sort of nice, actually.

“Not too shabby,” Dee says, standing at the threshold with Brian. Dennis had her sit this one out; womanly intuition means she knows how to change a diaper, not do any sort of handiwork. “Pretty. Seafoam green, I like it.”

Charlie tilts his head. “Yeah, it’s like… a nice lilac.”

“That’d be purple,” Dee says.

“Mauve,” Charlie amends.

“Still purple.” Dee’s bouncing Brian on her hip, and Dennis shoos them out of the room so the kid doesn’t inhale too many fumes.

Mac is looking decidedly content. There are flecks of green on his shirt, in his hair, and one has found its way to the corner of his mouth, which Dennis stares at for a beat too long. “I dunno, I’d say it passes mustard, right?”

“Passes-” This snaps Dennis out of it. “Did you just say passes _mustard_?”

“Yeah. Like, the color passes mustard, goes more into light green.”

“Jesus Christ. Can we just call it olive?” Dennis says with a frown. He turns to Frank for support, but he seems to be tuned out in the corner of the room, breathing in deeply the smell of the chemicals.

They roll out the rug next and set up the crib. Dee’s also rustled up a storage crate, a low table, and small set of white wooden drawers, chipped but otherwise in good condition. The five of them – and Brian – survey their handiwork from the doorway.

It really is nice. It’s nice, and it’s goddamn normal, and an invisible hand claws at Dennis’s windpipe.

“This came from your apartment?” Mac finally breaks the silence, looking at Dee. “Why’d you have a crib? Nevermind, don’t actually answer that.”

Dee looks back, smug. It’s not a flattering look on her at all. “Mostly Craigslist. Y’all owe me forty bucks, by the way.”

Dennis fishes a crumpled pair of twenties out of his pocket. His usual distaste at doing Dee any kind of service retreats sluggishly into the back of his mind as Dee hands him Brian.

There’s another pause, expectant this time.

“So?” Charlie prompts, and Brian coos his approval.


	5. Chapter 5

The next mountain to climb is the groceries.

Mandy left them with adequate amounts of baby food, of course. Brian seems to be doing okay, but out of paranoia, they all offer him mashed peas and beets in turn. Brian cheerfully turns these down by splattering them onto the kitchen floor. The applesauce vanishes mysteriously, which is to say Charlie noisily shotguns the pouch as Dennis is busy wiping up green and red mush.

“No skins,” Mac says in awe as Charlie swirls his finger into the limp remains of the pouch. “How did I never think of that?”

The fridge, however, is stocked to the brim with about forty cans of beer and one bag of wilted spinach (“for iron,” Mac had explained, and never touched again). Dennis can’t remember the last time he’s actually cooked anything. The thought of a glistening plate of scrambled eggs, covered in bell peppers and avocado and cheese, makes him dizzy, and he buries it down.

“Alright. You, me, baby, grocery shopping,” Dennis says, poking at Mac’s chest.

“You can leave Brian. Mac and I can watch him, right, Mac?” Dee offers. She’s cracked open one of the beers.

“Yeah, no.” Dennis scoops up the kid with a frown, rubbing his pinky finger along Brian’s cheek where the residual food mush is smeared. No one’s ever told him how goddamn messy children are. “I remember what happened the last time you and Mac were left alone with a baby. You’re not painting my son brown.”

Dee blinks. “Oh no, we’d never. White is in vogue again, so.”

“Good save,” Dennis says, lip curling. “Let’s go, Mac.”

He doesn’t miss Mac palming the apricot mash on their way out, but magnanimously decides to let it go. They pile into the Range Rover, Mac once again taking a seat in the back with the kid.

Mandy had thankfully left them with the stroller; Dennis, not that he’d ever admit it, feels his arms starting to ache as he lifts Brian out of the seat. He pushes the kid into the grocery store with Mac at his side. Dennis thinks about hanging a sharp left into the produce aisle to lose him, but then he feels a familiar, welcome tickle at the back of his neck: he’s got a woman’s attention.

He turns his head casually and spots her, some curvy chick with short hair, glancing at him and Mac a bit too often to be a casual observer. He looks at her, looks at Mac, looks at Brian, and puts it together.

How easy to Demonstrate Value.

He takes a breath and straightens up, puffing out his chest. “Honey,” Dennis drawls, and Mac doesn’t turn. “Honey,” he repeats, and finally Mac looks at him, surprise etching lines into his forehead. “Did we get any beer?”

“Uh,” Mac says. “We’ve got like a billion at home. And the liquor is all the way on the other side of the-”

“I think we need more,” Dennis says sweetly.

Mac just stares. “It’s not gonna fit. Once we buy the eggs and the milk.”

The woman is still watching, but now with less interest and more concern. Dennis forces a laugh and leans forward.

Mac goes still as a statue.

Dennis had perfected this move in college. The casual brush of lips against the corner of the other person’s mouth, not enough pressure to be called a kiss, but enough to be called _something_ , enough to hook them and make them want more.

“And the. Lettuce,” Mac is saying as Dennis pulls away an inch, keeping his eyes hooded and gaze fixed on Mac’s mouth. As if he can’t bear to split them apart.

Mac takes a sharp, shuddering breath. “I’ll go. Get the.”

“Thanks, babe,” Dennis says, straightening up. When Mac turns and leaves, he allows himself to smile, but it slides off his face when he realizes that the woman has vanished.

He rolls Brian through the aisles aimlessly, throwing beef jerky, tomato sauce, and toast into his basket as he goes. Mac doesn’t reappear until he’s already in the checkout line, and he’s empty-handed. Dennis wants to chew him out, but Mac’s jaw is clenched in a way that makes Dennis realize he’ll have to spend actual energy to win this fight. Besides, the checkout girl isn’t half bad, either. She’s a five if Dennis squints – bleached blonde hair ending in a mass of split ends, but an impressive set of cans.

“Hi,” Dennis says as she rings them up.

She looks up and nods.

“Just getting the ingredients for dinner tonight,” he goes on as she scans the string cheese.

No response still.

“My husband and I are going to cook,” Dennis says meaningfully, leaning all the way over the counter. “That’s our kid.”

Brian bursts into tears.

“…Cool,” the cashier says. “Your total is $91.47.”

“Oh, hon,” Dennis says, turning around and patting his empty pocket for show. “Do you mind? I left my wallet at home.”

There’s a vein starting to pop in Mac’s forehead, but he inserts his card into the chip reader anyway, offering a tight smile at the cashier girl that she, for some reason, returns. But he doesn’t say anything, just grabs their plastic bags and bumps against Dennis on his way out of the store.

It takes Dennis a few more minutes to follow, since he has to collect their receipt and wrangle the stroller with its sobbing inhabitant out of the too-narrow automatic door. By the time he gets back to the car, Mac has left their bags by the trunk and is leaning against the passenger door, staring broodily at nothing.

“And what’s gotten into you?” Dennis snaps. He doesn’t want to upset Brian any further, but Mac’s mood and his lack of success with not one but two women is getting to his head.

Mac turns to him and says nothing, just scowls deeper and shoves his hands into his pockets.

Dennis makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Fine, then.” He unlocks the car, hauls the bags into the back – Mac doesn’t help – and lifts Brian into his seat. Mac starts forward as if to contribute, but Dennis has become an expert at this point, snapping the million different seatbelts into place with only minimal fuss.

They drive most of the way home in silence. Dennis should relish it, but he isn’t. Anger, hot and familiar, brews in his stomach until it boils over.

“You realize I had her, right?” Dennis says without preamble. Mac, in the backseat once more, meets his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Huh?”

“Her. Them. Both of them! C’mon, this isn’t hard. Women love fathers. But they especially love gay fathers.”

Dennis is embarrassed, frankly, at how long it takes Mac to fit the pieces into place. “So you where, what. Pretending to be gay with me to pick up women? Wouldn’t they not be interested because of the, you know. Gay thing?”

“That’s not-” Dennis cuts himself off in frustration. “You’re not getting this, okay? That’s fine. We all know women aren’t your forte.”

Mac doesn’t say anything in response to this, but his lips are drooping downward. Then, finally: “It’s never gonna work. Gay men aren’t the thing anymore.”

“The- I’m sorry, the _thing_? What thing? I wasn’t aware that this has an expiration date on it, what the hell thing are you talking about?”

Mac just shrugs and slides his finger into Brian’s palm so he can grab on to it. “People have moved on. The gay thing is over.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dennis says. “I demonstrated value.”

Mac doesn’t look at him when he responds. “Maybe that’s over, too.”

Dennis wants to ask him what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but apparently they’ve parked in front of their apartment, and Mac is hopping out of the car to unstrap the kid.

Dennis grabs Brian, leaving Mac to haul up their groceries. Unsurprisingly, Dee, Charlie, and Frank haven’t moved, but they’ve broken into the supply of beer and in the past forty-five minutes have also somehow come up with a blunt.

“Put that out,” Dennis says, even with every nerve ending craving a drag. Actually, what he wants is a cigarette. What he _really_ wants is some cocaine.

Mac disappears to bring up the second load of groceries; Dennis doesn’t offer to join. He starts putting things away into the fridge and cupboard, losing only the chocolate bar to Charlie’s practiced hands.

It’s not even six in the evening. Dennis feels drained. Fatherhood is going to shave five or ten years off of his life, and he’s not optimistic about making it past fifty in the first place.

“Now what?” Dee says, voicing what all of them are thinking. They’ve set down Brian in the middle of the room. He sits there, looking at them looking at him.

“He probably needs like, a nap?” Mac ventures.

“Are you kidding?” Charlie says. “Kids need full-time intel- intelle- stim- he needs his brain to get bigger, all the time.”

Dennis snorts. “Yeah, you should know.”

“Charlie’s right,” Frank says. “You put him in front of the TV, that’s only gonna rot his brain. What he needs is like, puzzles and shit. A Rubik’s cube. None of that iPad bullshit all the kids have these days, turning ‘em into zombies.”

Brian sways, eyes fluttering shut.

“He needs a nap,” Dennis says firmly. In the corner of his eye, he sees Mac puff out his chest. “You guys need to get to work. I’ll put him down and catch up to you.”

“ _Put him down?_ ” Dee mocks. “What are you, a horse vet?”

“You know,” Dennis says, feeling the heat rush into his face. “For a nap.”

“Is that what people say? I always thought you’re like, putting someone under,” Charlie says.

“Nah,” Frank says. “That’s surgery.”

“Dah,” says Brian.

It’s the first sound he’s made since Mandy left him alone with them, and the gang bursts into confused noises. “Everyone shut up,” Dee orders.

“I think he’s trying to say something,” Mac says, and his eyes shine with wonder.

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s fifteen months old. He’s not trying to say shit. He doesn’t have rational thoughts.”

Brian Jr. waves his tiny fist vaguely near Mac, who literally gasps out loud - “oh! He knows his papa!” - and something twists loose in Dennis’s chest when he realizes Mac wasn’t referring to him.

“Dada?” Brian says, and Dennis stoops down to grab him before anyone else can comment.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “Time for bed. Everyone else, get the hell out of my apartment.”

Brian is still babbling as Dennis lowers him into the new crib. Dennis listens even though he told Mac it was meaningless, even though he _knows_ it’s meaningless, trying to fight the sense that whatever Brian is saying is terribly important.

“Good night,” he says to Brian.

“Nigh,” Brian repeats, curling up under his blankets.

Dennis means to go back into the kitchen, grab his keys, and follow everyone else to Paddy’s. But he gets hit by a wave of exhaustion that leaves him trembling. Today’s gone on for far too long.

Maybe if he just lies in his bed, closes his eyes for five minutes or so….

When he wakes up, it’s dark outside. Mac is crawling into bed next to him.

“It’s okay,” Mac says. Dennis has flailed off the blankets and is sweating like he’s coming down from a high. “We gave Brian some food, changed his diaper. I texted Mandy and she’s gonna pick him up before work tomorrow.”

Questions are struggling to the forefront of Dennis’s mind – who’s _we_ , how does anyone have Mandy’s number – but sleep has wound its way through his mind and into his bones.

“Why?” he manages.

Mac settles behind him and flings an arm over Dennis’s waist. “You should trust us more, you know,” he says, nonsensically. Dennis wants to ask what he means, but the fog descends once more, and he’s asleep before he can manage another word.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a weird quirk of human nature, but what was once so novel and foreign soon becomes routine.

Mandy leaves the baby with Mac and Dennis twice a week for overnights, and often on weekend afternoons when the daycare is closed. It’s freaky how quickly Brian becomes a tiny, needy, fragile member of the now-six person gang, but freakier how none of them finds it that freaky at all.

In fact, Dennis should find it alarming how _good_ they’ve become at their unspoken niches: Charlie, at making Brian overflow with giggles; Mac, at carrying him from point A to point B securely and effortlessly; Frank, at being a disconcertingly good mimic, making exactly the same kinds of noises Brian is and stopping him mid-temper tantrum in his confusion; Dee, to her chagrin, at changing diapers like a pro, only keeping it up because Dennis plies her with cheap sangria as payment.

And Dennis _would_ be alarmed at how the gang’s dynamic has shifted – without his permission, no less – if he weren’t so busy constantly keeping an eye on the kid, worrying about switching him off with Mandy and things he’d never thought of before, like bedtimes and calcium intake and putting child locks on all the cabinets to secure them from Brian’s grabby little hands.

Mandy is proving to be an exceptionally chill parent. Dennis doesn’t have a basis of comparison, but even he knows that not all mothers would be okay leaving their kid in the hands of five strangers who run a bar – and taking the kid to said bar, where he turns out to be a big hit.

“Maybe she doesn’t know?” Dennis suggests to Dee one night at Paddy’s, bouncing Brian on his knee as a bunch of young women lean forward and coo over him.

“Nah, I told her,” Dee says, and takes a swig of her beer. Brian eyes her and lifts up his sippy cup of apple juice. “But she trusts you, and she thinks it’s good for Brian’s development, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“You talk to Mandy?” Dennis says. He cups his hand under Brian’s chin to catch the dribble.

Dee checks her phone. “Yeah, duh. We’re gonna have a wine night tonight, actually, so I gotta bounce.”

This takes him aback. “…Why?”

“What, am I not allowed to have friends outside the gang?”

“Alright, first of all, we’re not your friends,” Dennis corrects, “and second of all, absolutely not my ex-girlfriend.”

Dee snorts. “Don’t you think girlfriend is kind of a generous way of putting it? Also, how have you not noticed what’s happening here?” She nods her chin at the women who have formed an adoring semi-circle around them.

Dennis gives them a glance. “Yeah, not tonight, ladies. Bedtime’s at 8 PM.”

*

His life gets significantly better when Charlie, of all people, gives him a baby carrier. Better yet, it’s a _camo_ baby carrier. It has a slight smell to it, so Dennis can’t be sure it wasn’t salvaged from a dump somewhere, but he’s not about to look a gift baby carrier in the mouth.

“That thing is for _children?_ ” Charlie asks when he sees Dennis, gloriously hands-free with Brian strapped to his chest and double-fisting Natties in celebration.

That explains a lot. “What’d you think it was?”

“Bulletproof vest,” Charlie says without batting an eye.

“Hell yeah,” Mac crows from somewhere behind them. “What if it’s a bulletproof child-carrier vest? Can we write that into Lethal Weapon 7?”

Dennis snaps his fingers. Charlie scrambles and brings him a pen and a notepad, and Dennis rewards him with half of a Kit Kat from his pocket. “On it.”

Another unexpected change is Charlie himself. Dee’s affinity for Brian isn’t that strange – she’s a woman, it’s in her nature. Mac is gay, so basically the same thing. But Charlie takes them all by surprise. Though he clearly doesn’t know much of the terminology associated with childrearing, and gets in trouble with Dennis more than once for trying to offer the kid an entire rotisserie chicken, something seems to click into place when Charlie and Brian are hanging out together. And it truly is _hanging out_ , not babysitting or caretaking, since Charlie is the only one of them willing to crawl around on the floor with him.

“Aren’t you worried about-” Mac starts, waving his beer at the two of them on the ground. Brian seems to have Charlie in some kind of headlock.

“Brian swallowing rat poison, chlorine, or Everclear from Charlie’s fingers? Yeah, probably,” Dennis says. He clinks his bottle against Mac’s and settles on a stool to watch.

“They spent all of yesterday afternoon smushing rats together,” Dee says, with a half-awed, half-disgusted curl of her lip. “How much longer until we don’t have to worry about child labor laws?”

On one afternoon, Dennis emerges from the cellar after a particularly heated conversation with Dee to find the bar empty, when he had just left Brian in Charlie’s care.

“Damnit,” Dennis mutters, grabbing his car keys, “shit, fuck, knew this was a terrible idea, can’t trust fucking anybody-”

“Oh, hey,” he hears Charlie’s voice, sounding strangely muffled and about five hundred feet away. “Check it out!”

Dennis peers behind the bar and sees… nothing, actually. His view is obscured by a massive blanket, stretched from the bar to the counter and looped around all of the taps.

“What the fuck?”

He spends the better part of five minutes just trying to weave his way inside. Once there, he finds Charlie contorted into the fetal position, helping Brian assemble a giant heap of Legos. Brian looks up and offers Dennis a giant smile.

Dennis frowns. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Do what?” Charlie holds out a plastic pouch. “Plum?”

Over time, the toy corner grows in the corner of Paddy’s, courtesy of Frank and Charlie going minimalist on their apartment by outsourcing crap here. Dennis cross-checks every loose sock against the advice of the internet, and after he clears Brian to go in there, even he has to admit it’s kind of awesome. He forces them to move it to the corner by the TV, since they still have to work behind the bar, but when Brian isn’t around it doubles as a sweet way to keep drunk people entertained – and willing to stay for another round.

“Toy?” Frank asks, holding up an old remote control for god knows what, since he and Charlie haven’t had a functioning TV in years. Dennis pulls out his phone.

“Mm, safekids dot org says it’s a no-go. Batteries,” he says, taking the remote and sending it into the trash in a neat arc.

*

But the biggest and most unwelcome change of all is in Mac.

At first, Dennis can’t pinpoint what’s different. Brian’s existence has turned everyone’s life upside down, of course, so he doesn’t know why Mac in particular is bothering him. Sure, Mac fusses and fawns over Brian to almost cringeworthy amounts, so much that Dennis gripes he should be paying Brian babysitting money when Mac is around.

But that’s not quite it. When Brian is gone, everyone in the gang falls into recognizable patterns: Frank conspires and swindles and lies, Charlie walks his perpetual tightrope between genius and Darwin Award, and Dee sucks. Dennis masterminds them all, keeps them from imploding together or exploding apart.

Everyone except Mac, whose orbit is whacked out, but not so obviously that Dennis can pinpoint the source and stamp it out. It’s an itch he can’t scratch, everywhere under his skin, and it’s driving him fucking nuts.

He only figures it out by accident.

They’re on the couch one of their Brian-free nights; Dee and Charlie and Frank all found reasons not to join movie night, ranging from “gotta feed the cats” to “fuck no.” Dennis has worked up a nice buzz that complements the prickling on his skin he feels around Mac these days, the hair-raising feeling that something is off-kilter and can only be recalibrated by tightening his grip on Mac as hard as he can. And at the same time, he feels a need to push Mac away, to never speak to him again just to elicit some kind of reaction, something to make Mac finally take notice.

The urges are equal and opposite. They neutralize out to something resembling boredom. Dennis starts up one of the Fast & Furious movies – doesn’t really matter which one, to him, and it captivates Mac – and chases it down with a couple of beers.

Dennis is four or five (or maybe six? Seven?) drinks in and they’re on the movie’s sequel (the sixth? Seventh?) when he decides to speak his mind. “Man, this movie kinda sucks.”

He says it and instinctively ducks, dodging what Mac is bound to throw: a bottlecap, an entire bottle, a punch. Nothing comes. Dennis peeks up over his fingers and sees Mac frowning over at him. “Oh yeah? Why’d you say that?”

Dennis blows out his breath. For Mac to let a comment like that slide, that’s….

That’s not normal.

Over the next few days, Dennis’s fledgling theory takes shape: Mac is happy. Or, not quite happy. Dennis observes him carefully, and Mac still snaps at Dee, still hunches together in his seat when Frank so much as says anything, still lashes out at Dennis with a breathtaking lack of impulse control when Dennis takes careful aim at his masculinity.

“I _highly_ doubt you can bench Vin Diesel. Not even Paul Walker,” Dennis says.

“You take that back,” Mac snarls, index jabbing into Dennis’s collarbone.

“Paul Walker’s dead. No one can bench him,” Dee says, disentangling them and blind to Dennis’s satisfied smirk.

So Mac isn’t happy, but he’s _happier_. Now that he sees it, the change isn’t lost on Dennis, who suddenly is forced into the backseat to Mac’s great gay coming of age, or whatever the fuck this is.

He starts to catalogue Mac even more closely, almost considering busting out the old file that was probably lost to the conflagration but lives on in Dennis’s memory. Mac spends less time threatening to fight his usual demons, less time drinking and pouting and raging against a world that’s slighted him, and more time, just – settled.

The most unnerving thing is how Mac’s nirvana bullshit seems to be rippling out to the rest of the gang. When all of them are together, Dennis almost feels his grip on everyone else slackening. Dennis tests it, ordering Charlie to bring him a beer, and Charlie honest to God glances at Mac, who smiles broadly and says “get me one too, bro,” before doing as he’s told. Dee starts resurfacing some of the more unfortunate bits of standup from her routine; when Mac doesn’t join in Dennis’s scathing commentary, her jokes just die instead of becoming subjected to a four-man dogpile.

For once, Dennis is actually grateful for Frank, who doesn’t seem to be drinking the Mac Kool-Aid. So far, he’s the only person standing between Dennis and a well-deserved coup to reclaim his throne.

Well, Frank and Brian, insofar as the kid can be counted as a whole person. Looking after a tiny thing that spends all its time in a harrowing spin cycle of screaming, eating, shitting, and sleeping distracts Dennis from some of his darker machinations.

But just when Dennis didn’t think he could feel any more out of control of his own life, Mac starts _vanishing_.

There isn’t a better term for it. Dennis will come back from getting beer or dropping Brian off at Mandy’s, some of the rare things he does alone, and Mac just isn’t there.

The first time it happens, Dennis frowns and checks Brian’s room and the bathroom. The bed is made, so there’s no chance Mac is burrowed into the sheets for a nap. In an abundance of caution, Dennis actually checks _under_ the bed, just in case this is Mac’s weird idea of a prank. No sign of life, but he does recuperate several of Brian’s socks and an old edition of GQ with Tom Brady on the cover.

 _Where’d u go_ , he texts Mac.

When he gets no response, he texts Frank – who confirms Mac isn’t at his and Charlie’s and offers a lewd suggestion, by way of emoji, where Mac could be instead – and calls Dee, who also says Mac isn’t there before hanging up on him.

 _It’s 1 PM tho_ , Dennis texts Frank.

 _Never 2 early 4_ Frank texts, followed by several eggplant emojis and the wink emoji.

Dennis’s hands fly to a zit that’s started forming on his chin. Taking a deep breath, he reins himself in and goes to put on another layer of concealer.

It’s nearly four hours later until his phone buzzes again – this time, a response from Mac. _Sry went to the store b home soon_

“Whatever,” Dennis says out loud. He wraps himself in a blanket and sits in front of the TV. He forgets to turn it on until he hears the key turning in the lock, and stares at the screen as Mac comes in.

“Heyo,” Mac says. Dennis glances at him. He’s a little sweaty and his hair is gel-free; otherwise, his expression is neutral.

“What’d you get,” Dennis says.

“Huh?”

Dennis sighs, stretches, and unfolds himself from the couch, as if he’s been there a long while. “What’d you get?” he repeats, nodding at Mac’s empty hands. “From the store.”

Mac’s mouth opens slightly. He’s avoiding Dennis’s gaze. “Oh, uh. Decided not to buy anything.”

Dennis sits back down. “I see.”

“I’m starving,” Mac calls out as he heads into the bathroom. “Gonna order some Chinese. You want egg rolls, dude?”

“No thank you,” Dennis says and burrows further into the blanket.

The disappearances, the sudden inner peace: all of that alone is enough to ruffle Dennis, but there’s one incident that puts him over the edge.

Mac’s appointments, as Dennis has started referring to them, happen with no discernible pattern, except for a few things: he’s always home in time for dinner, and he’s never gone when Brian’s there. These boundaries are sufficient to keep Dennis from demanding answers or from investigating something Mac clearly isn’t bent on telling him. But one night a few weeks later, Mac breaks their unspoken rule.

Dennis drives Brian back to Mandy’s in the early evening and finds himself trapped in three painful minutes of smalltalk. He gets out of it only by forcing a too-loud laugh at Mandy’s work story, thus waking up Brian and unleashing a hearty bawl.

“Well, good luck,” Dennis says, leaving Mandy to wrangle the unhappy camper back inside.

But home is quiet; all the lights are off. Dennis flicks on his bedside lamp, but Mac hasn’t taken an early bedtime today.

Dennis’s phone is in his hands in a flash. Then he remembers the burning in his gut, something akin to humiliation, when he went through this routine a couple of weeks ago. He puts the phone down and gets ready for bed.

Near midnight, after Dennis has consumed a few mindless hours of _Bachelor in Paradise_ , which is less enjoyable without Mac there to roast the contestants with him, Dennis contends himself to the fact that Mac isn’t coming home. He ignores the thought of Frank’s emojis, if he knew, clicks off the lamp, and attempts sleep.

Dennis sits up at some later point, unclear on if he truly slept or not. His phone tells him it’s 3:47, and the bed is still empty.

Gut churning, Dennis stuffs a pillow over his face and tries to asphyxiate himself back to sleep.

He doesn’t see Mac in the morning, and his phone is free of notifications. He skips breakfast, downs three black coffees, and decides to head to Paddy’s hours ahead of schedule.

The bar is dark and empty. Sweat dampens the fabric of Dennis’s button-up. Feeling detached from his own body, Dennis doesn’t take much notice. Instead, as he turns on the lights, he introspects: his head is in a state of buzzing numbness, his thoughts empty of anything in particular. With a measure of satisfaction, Dennis goes down to the basement.

It’s been a while since Dennis has been here and truly looked; anything work-related is Charlie’s domain. Absently, Dennis picks up the rat smusher he and Mac had gotten Charlie so long ago, and his fingers itch for something to destroy.

The rats, potentially sniffing his mood, stay hidden.

Dennis puts the club down. He spends the next fifteen minutes or so looking for a sponge and finally finds one under one of the urinals. He lets the faucet run as hot as it gets, which is a few degrees above lukewarm, rinses out the sponge, and gets to work.

He doesn’t really process what he’s doing as he scrubs down first the sinks, then the mirrors, then the tables and stools. The booths are next; the one old dude who wandered in an hour or so into this attack says nothing as Dennis washes his table three times in a row, just takes broody swigs of his beer.

Dennis has moved on to the floor when the door swings open. He blinks furiously against the sunlight that streams in.

“Oh,” Mac says from somewhere above him. “Uh, you okay?”

Dennis struggles up from all fours, his knees screaming in protest.

“Wow. Need a hand?”

Dennis glares at Mac, who’s dressed too primly, looking too clean and put together, for it barely being past noon. He knows the effect is undermined by the fact that sponge runoff is currently trickling its way down his wrist. He lets the sponge fall onto the floor and steps away from Mac, who’s once again so close that Dennis feels like he’s suffocating, and stalks behind the bar. “I’m fine. Just doing some cleaning, since no one else seems to these days. Or, you know. Ever.”

“I can. Go get Charlie,” Mac offers, stilted.

Dennis pops the cap off a bottle of beer and snorts. “Sure, great. He can fuck up all the things I just cleaned, that’ll be awesome.”

“Dude-”

But Dennis doesn’t have the time or motivation to find out what, exactly, Mac will come up with this time. He disappears downstairs with the vague intention of bringing up a fresh keg or maybe snorting some rat poison.

The kegs are dusty, too. Dennis wipes them off with his sleeve, not processing his own actions, just getting lost in the time as he dusts one off, then another.

“Dennis.”

He jumps. At some point in the past however fucking long it’s been, Mac has appeared behind him. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. In that moment, Dennis loathes him and his too-gelled hair, his brow wrinkled with concern.

“Dennis?”

He grunts in acknowledgment.

“Just wanted to, like, see if you’re okay.”

“Peachy,” Dennis says, curt. “Can you help me bring one of these up? Please?”

Mac doesn’t move. “Just seems like you’re. I dunno, mad at me.”

Dennis’s vision whites out for a second; he blinks and it clears again. He looks down at his hands, but they aren’t shaking. “Good night last night?”

Mac inhales and stays silent for a second. “Yeah, it was fine,” he says, finally. Too late.

“Were you out?” Dennis hates this, hates that he can’t stop. It feels like a verbal version of purging, the way he’s asking everything he doesn’t want to know: that immediate sense of clarity and relief, followed by revulsion at himself.

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Dennis looks at a spot just above Mac’s head. “Had fun?”

“Yeah, it was a pretty good time.”

“Was he nice?” Dennis turns away, taking interest instead in the tap on the keg.

“Huh?”

“The guy you were on a date with.”

He turns back to see Mac’s lips curving downward. Clearly, the question has upset him, and Dennis takes perverse pleasure in the reaction. “Yeah. He was fine.”

“Oh.” Any burst of enjoyment Dennis had felt vanishes in an instant. “I guess that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, so,” Charlie says. Dennis jerks, suddenly noticing him standing half in shadow at the foot of the stairs. “Is someone gonna bring up that keg, or?”

“I’ll get it,” Dennis says, grabbing it by himself and hauling it past where Charlie and Mac are both still rooted to the spot, ignoring their too-wide eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://rainbowcat-writes.tumblr.com), aka my sadly neglected writing sideblog!
> 
> This fic is still updating, I promise! It's been slow, but I'm still workin' on it. Thank you all for kudos and comments so far!


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